


Haust Blót - The Harvest Sacrifice

by Caffiend



Category: Jotunn Loki - Fandom, Loki Fandom, Norwegian mythology - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Altar Sex, Bondage, Entombment, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Jötunn Loki, Loki the arrogant god, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sleeping Beauty - Freeform, Supernatural Intervention, The Wicker Man, blood sacrifice, close knit family, loki takes his due, strong female character, unwilling use of hallucinogens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend
Summary: In which Adriana, her father and sister travel to the massive Jotunheimen mountain chain in Norway to scatter her mother's ashes. But nothing is ever simple in the remote peaks and glaciers. Especially at harvest time.





	1. "Where's Mom's Ashes?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misreall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misreall/gifts).

> Due to an overzealous self-appointed moral arbiter, I have changed all my stories to "Author chooses not to use archive warnings," because I refuse to label my stories - incorrectly - as rape. There are moments of dub-con and I will do my best to tag effectively and issue specific chapter warnings if I feel they might be triggering. To the anonymous "reporters" who continue to harass writers in our community, I hope you become better people and learn to govern your own lives instead of attempting to control everyone else's.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading.
> 
> I've been useless this month- my favorite time of year and no Halloween tale for Loki? Until I thought of this lurid little tale tonight. Happy reading...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adriana, her father and sister travel to the massive Jotunheimen mountain chain in Norway to scatter her mother's ashes. But nothing is ever simple in the remote peaks and glaciers. Especially at harvest time.

Fuck ‘em.

Fuck them all straight to whatever asshole shit-heap organic wheat-grinding fuckery of an afterlife these linen-wearing bitches go to. With extreme prejudice. With a red hot poker up the ass of prejudice. The humming that was making her want to gouge out her eardrums seemed to rise, and Adriana groaned. "It's bad enough," she snarled, "that I'm about to die in whatever fucked-up medieval asshattery these yokels are planning. But they're torturing me first? Really?"

She was faking it, of course. Inside her heart was tapdancing at a speed that was just a hair under a myocardial infarction, which at this point would be preferable. She was scared shitless and this entire fucking village was packed full of lunatics who intended to sacrifice her to some asshole pagan deity and Adriana was pretty sure it was going to be unspeakably painful. Her lip started trembling, so she bit the inside of her cheek. Hard. Looking around, the little room they were holding her in looked so innocuous. Nice blue and white china, pretty wooden chairs and a table with an embroidered yellow cloth. There were no windows. No convenient trap door in the floor or ceiling. Only one way in or out, the sturdy oak door reinforced with iron hinges. Adriana had thought briefly of picking the lock and making her way to freedom until she remembered she didn’t know how to pick a lock. And there was nothing on her that would be handy - no simple bobby pin left overlooked in her hair - just this stupid white nightgowny-looking thing they’d shoved her into and a circlet of flowers in her hair that Adriana had immediately ripped off and stomped on it with her bare feet, which were now covered with sap, thank you very much.

There was nothing left to do but pace back and forth and wait for the humming to stop. Which would be when they murdered her in whatever hideously grisly fashion they had planned. “Psycho yokel fucks!” And wonder where her dad and Alison were. If they were safe yet. 

Trying to lay blame on whoever’s bright fucking idea it was to travel to Norway and then trek up to Jotunheimen National Park was a little difficult. They all loved the country, and when their mother passed from breast cancer, her last wishes had been made quite clear. 

____________________________

“First,” Kristina had instructed, her blue eyes still bright even if her bare skull was now covered with a knitted cap and not her beautiful hair, “I want George Clooney to speak at my service.” 

Despite herself, Adriana started laughing, which clashed with the fact that she was crying too. “Yeah, okay mom. What else?”

Now there was no more laughing, and her mother’s light diminished. “I want to have my ashes taken home.”

“What,” sniffed her daughter, “to Denver?”

“No, honey,” Kristina forced a little smile for her beautiful girl, “to Norway.”

____________________________

So, yeah. They did as mom had asked and took her ashes there, intent on scattering them.

“Styggebreen Glacier Route - Galdhøpiggen belongs to the Jotunheimen chain, located in the magnificent Jotunheimen National Park, in the middle of Southern Norway,” recited Alison, lounging in the back seat and reading from the guidebook.

“Naturally your mother would prefer the highest and most difficult mountain summit in the entire country,” Martin answered. Adriana smiled at her father who kept his eyes on the road and hands at “Ten and two, girls, ten and two! You’ll never get in an accident if you keep your eyes on the road and hands at ten and two on the steering wheel!”

As it turned out, dad was incorrect. A patch of black ice suddenly spread across the perfectly dry road and the back end of their rental car slid out first, sending them into a spin that took several terrifying rotations before slamming them into a rock embankment. 

When Adriana regained consciousness, she was resting in a wooden bed with a fluffy comforter and soft, soft goosedown pillows. 

Turning to her side brought on a brutal round of nausea, but she painfully swallowed, forcing her stomach back down to its correct position and looked at her little sister, still asleep.

“Oh, good. You are awake now?” The sweet voice with a lilting Norwegian accent belonged to an older woman, pleasantly rounded and looking approvingly at Adriana, as if she’d done something more talented than just regaining consciousness.

Painfully pushing herself to a seated position, she smiled back. “Hei. Hvor er faren min?”

Looking pleased with the girl’s clumsy Norwegian, the woman still answered back in English, “Just in the next room, dear. What is your name?”

“Adriana…” she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, where apparently her brain was attempting to seep out through her left nostril. “That’s my sister Alison. Is she okay?”

The woman tilted her chin up, looking her over with a practiced eye. “Your vision, is it blurry?”

“No,” Adriana said, “my dad- Martin. He’s not hurt?”

Seemingly satisfied, the older woman sat back. “Your father is fine, just a bit bruised. Your sister as well.” 

Rising stiffly to sit next to Alison, she tried to smile. “Thank you. Seriously- you’re so great. What happened? We caught a patch of black ice and spun out.” 

“One of my neighbors found your car upside down - I must add - and the three of you inside. I am Britt. How old is your sister?”

A brow raised, Adriana answered, “Uh, 16.” 

Smiling down at Alison, who looked so sweet (because she was unconscious, her sister thought cynically,) Britt looked almost … hungry? “Lovely. That is lovely.”'

________________________

That should have been her first warning, Adriana thought bitterly. Though even though she thought the woman was a little weird, she's not sure what that would have warned her against.

That came later that day.

She was searching through the luggage they’d thoughtfully piled just inside the bedroom door, finding something less ripped and bloody to put on. Alison was pawing through her bag as well and froze. “Where’s mom’s ashes?” 

“What? You were keeping them in the blue bag!” They were both panicking then, scrabbling through the scattered clothes and cosmetics for the slate grey box that held what was left of the glorious, vibrant woman they’d loved. Poking her head out the door, Adriana caught Britt conversing with a startlingly well-built young man. “Hey, uh, Britt? We’re missing a little metal box, like shoebox-size? It’s really important, it’s-” She slowed down a little as the two blondes looked at each other.

Finally giving her a bright and insincere smile, Britt drew her out of the room, holding out her other hand for Alison. “Don’t worry, I’ll send Hans-Torrud out to look around the crash area. Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll have dinner, yes? Everyone is so looking forward to meeting you.”

“Everyone?” whispered Alison to Adriana, but they both smiled politely as they were led out of the cottage and across the little town square. Looking up into the night, Adriana smiled. Autumn was her favorite time of year, and it was a perfect night- crisp, cold air, the crackling of leaves underfoot and the sense of snow just lingering around the edges.

“Everyone” turned out to be around 50-60 good-looking and polite Norwegians who all seemed very happy to see them. Martin was seated at a long harvest table, talking with two of the older men. He stood up, beaming when he spotted them. “My girls! Look at this! It’s a faithful re-creation of a Viking longhouse! This town has kept up some of the beautiful old traditions of their ancestors, and-”

“Dad?” Alison’s voice was a little wobbly, and Adriana put her arm around her. Their dad hadn’t come to check on them? He’d just hung out here - drinking beer by the scent of his breath - and geeking out on Norse history?

Martin’s clouded eyes seemed to clear a little, and he hugged them both. “My girls,” he said mournfully, “I’m sorry. I didn’t see that damned patch of ice- they said you were all right? Just a little banged-up?”

“Yeah,” Adriana agreed, “we’re okay….”

“Velcome to Glemt!” One of the older men who’d been sitting with their father stood, raising his mug in a toast. “We are happy you are here!” Everyone raised a glass or mug and toasted as well, almost in an eerie synchronicity.

Someone tried to offer Alison a glass and Adriana took it instead. “She’s underage,” she said with a large, false smile, ignoring her little sister’s glower.

A large and attractive boy seated himself next to Alison with a shy smile, introducing himself as Knut. Hiding her grin behind the mug, Adriana took a gulp of the really lovely-tasting beer. Suddenly, the drink seemed stuck in her throat as she looked across the longhouse. There was a man there, standing in the shadows, hugely, ridiculously tall - it seemed like his head was brushing the crossbeams - and he was staring at her, arms folded over a broad chest. Leaning in, she tried to focus on him. Long, dark hair, over his shoulders at least and even in his dark corner, she could see his eyes, glittering. Green. Like emeralds.

“Who’s that?” she interrupted her sister’s conversation with her hot Viking teenager, which earned her a frown.

His blonde brows drew together. “Who?”

Pointing at the end of the hall, Adriana said, “That guy, the tall one? Who is-” Looking back, she flushed to see the corner was empty.

Back to watching and waiting, her gaze moved between her father and sister. Of course, everyone was chatting up Alison, she thought. Beautiful and blonde, big blue eyes and fitting right in. Her infuriatingly thick black hair and green eyes came from her father’s side. And the freckles. And the pasty, pale skin. And the wide ass and fortunately, a tiny waist. But she was used to looking after both of them since her mother had died, which is how the girl noticed her father's face was getting redder and his laugh, louder. With a sigh, Adriana stood and walked over, taking his arm. "Hey, dad. You're going to lose your Scottish drinking cred," she teased gently, "how about we all call it a night and get some sleep? I'll find a new rental place and get us back on the road tomorrow."

“Oh, sweetie, Andreas here is going to take us!” Martin gestured to one of his drinking buddies. “He’s a guide- it’s the only way across the glacier and to the summit.”

Looking at the man, she watched his eyes harden as his smile grew wider. “Yes, dear. It will be our pleasure. Galdhøpiggen is a sacred place. It must be approached with reverence.”

“Uh, huh…” she agreed, smiling pleasantly. This one was a weird fucker. He wasn’t pretending like the rest- Adriana looked around the hall. Why would she think that_? _Everyone had been nice, but it seemed like all the townspeople were staring at the three of them. Sure, this was a little place and maybe they didn’t get a lot of visitors outside of tourist season, but … it was creepy. It felt creepy. Suddenly claustrophobic, she took her father's hand and then her sister's, pulling them both up from their benches. "We need to go to bed," she said precisely. They both recognized the tone, it was so much like her mother's, and they rose obediently and followed her back to Britt's cottage.

That night, Adriana dreamed.

There was death, and blood. A battlefield. Vikings? Big goddamn axes that cleaved and cut and gouged. Screaming. And she was in the middle of the dead bodies, frantically looking for the face of her father, trying to find Alison. There was a sudden silence and Adriana’s head shot up, terrified. Turning in a circle, she looked for the- thing? It? Whatever was making her feeling like a ton of stones was laid on her chest and crushing the breath from her. She was the only living thing in the massive, bloody field until her frantic gaze caught his. It was the tall man again, his long, dark hair held back in a massive, horned silver helmet that made him even more gigantic and terrifying. His armor was splashed with blood, soaked in it until the dark green armor had turned black. He held a viciously long, sharp blade in either hand and strolled casually through the corpses, a smile on his face.

“There you are.”

Adriana shivered violently. That fucking voice! Like a panther’s, smooth and dark and so goddamn pleased. Why was he pleased? He was standing in a fucking charnel-house! “W- wha- who the fuck are you?” she managed to squeak out, “Where the fuck are we? My dad and-” Suddenly she was on her knees with a yelp, the blood soaking into her sleep pants and his fist gripping a chunk of her hair.

“You kneel to me. You are already mine.” 

Her head was bent back at a painful angle, so Adriana had an excellent view of the bloody warrior. His thin lips curved in a cruel smile and his hair wavered between pitch black and then turning fiery red. But the eyes … the blazing heat of them was burning her inside out. “F- fuck you,” she hissed, “and fuck your depressing-ass dream. I’m getting my family and we’re gone, psycho, and you can just- AH, GOD!”

The man’s mouth was on her neck suddenly, his sharp teeth digging into her skin. He didn’t speak, but she could hear the silky midnight of his voice all the same. “I am your GOD, worthless flesh. And you have no value other than what I assign to you. Which is nothing.” And then she was screaming in agony with no voice, no voice because those even white teeth were tearing her throat open and she was gagging on the blood, it sprayed across her face but missed his, those green eyes still fixed on hers as he jerked his head, ripping her life from her.

Sitting upright in bed, Adriana was still screaming silently, fisting her hair and yanking on it, using the pain to force herself awake. “Not real,” her whisper was harsh, her throat feeling on fire, “just a dream.” Gaze darting over at her sister, she sighed in relief. Alison was still asleep, a gentle smile on her face. Shaking, teeth chattering, she wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and cautiously put her head back on the pillow, looking out the window at the nearly-full moon. “A dream,” she croaked, “fuck that guy.”

“Hei. Hvor er faren min?” - Norwegian for “Hi, where’s my father?”

Glemt - Forgotten


	2. She's No Snow White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the masks slip to show the monsters hiding beneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite girlfriends read this, pumped her fist in the air and shouted, "Fuck the Patriarchy!" Then there was some stuff about the Virgin/Whore construct and then I stopped paying attention.

The following morning, Adriana found everyone was pleasantly and kindly most unhelpful. In every possible way.

“So, where’s the closest car rental place?” She was trying to not follow Britt around like a bored puppy, but the woman kept walking and smiling as she asked her questions but never answered any of them. “Seriously-” stepping over to the sink to dry the dishes their hostess was washing, Adriana tried again, “Britt, I really, really need to get another rental car. You said ours was totaled?”

“Totaled?” the older woman frowned, handing her a plate.

“Yeah,” she prompted, “like trashed? Un-driveable?”

“Oh, yes,” Britt answered serenely, “you will not get out of Glemt in that car.”

Frowning at the odd-ass way she answered her, Adriana asked instead, “So, Glemt. That means forgotten, or do I have my Norwegian wrong?”

Handing her the last cup and drying her hands, Britt nodded. “No, that is correct. Forgotten. By everyone but us.”

“We’ll always remember,” Adriana volunteered, “I’ll never forget how kind you were to us.”

“No, dear. You’ll never forget your time here.” And with that distinctly troubling agreement, their hostess left the house.

No one else was any better.

“Why would you need a car?” Andreas scoffed lightly, “I have told your father I will take you across the glacier and to the summit.”

“Yeah, but…” Adriana was following him like a particularly determined bloodhound. “We’re going to have to leave within two days to make our flight home, and I need to get our way back to Oslo put together. My cell phone can’t pick up a signal here, can I borrow your phone or a laptop? Just an internet connection?”

But the man was halfway across the pretty town square by then and speaking to someone else, pleasantly ignoring her.

“This is bullshit!” Adriana was raging to Alison, both of them combing through the luggage retrieved from their ruined rental car, looking for the metal box containing their mother’s ashes. “No one answers a goddamn question around here and I can’t even call out! They all just keep smiling that friendly, ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about’ smile when I ask them something.”

“I don’t know,” her sister shrugged, picking up a shirt and trying it on. “Everyone seems so nice to me.”

“Especially Kn-nooot?” Adriana jeered, enjoying the girl’s blush at the mention of Knut, last night’s dining companion. “Don’t get too attached, we’re leaving tomorrow. And take off that shirt, that’s mine, you cow!”

“Really?” Holding up a box triumphantly, Alison said, “Even if I found mom’s ashes wrapped in it?”

“It’s yours,” Adriana whispered, holding the box to her chest and blinking in surprise as tears instantly welled in her eyes. She hadn’t realized how desperately she needed to hold that innocent-looking tin again. It was all she had left of her mother. All that any of them had.

Gritting her teeth, she stomped out of the house - again - hoping to find someone in this fucking Disney village of happy smiling people who would actually give her any answers. Her dad was still yammering with the older villagers and as she drew closer, she found them passing around a flask. Martin’s face was already flushed so she was guessing this wasn’t the first go-around. “Hey, Dad?” Adriana smoothly inserted herself between Andreas and her father. Do we have a plan for scaling the summit, yet? I’m trying to set up plans to get back to Oslo, and-”

“Oh, honey, we’ll actually be going up Galdhøpiggen tomorrow instead, this is Glemt’s big harvest festival tonight, everyone’s busy putting it all together.”

Looking around, she could see that the square was abustle, people putting up decorations and festooning the wooden beams and benches with garlands of fall fruits and beautifully woven vines and flowers. Shoulders slumping, she mumbled, “Shit!” There was no way they were getting out of the village and on to that goddamn summit today. As she was trying to calculate just how much changing their plane tickets was going to cost, Alison walked by, smiling coyly at an extremely attentive Knut. Adriana pulled her aside. “Allie, I know that look,” she warned. “We’re leaving the Village of Super Happy People from H-E-double hockey sticks tomorrow and tonight’s not a great time to get lucky. I know you’re on vacation and he’s hot, but Dad’s here and this is a small town. They look at this shit differently.”

Alison was - usually - surprisingly mature for 16, but here, she was not. “I’m not going to do anything! Jesus! What are you, my moth-” She stopped and her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I’m really-”

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Adriana wrapped her arms around the suddenly tearful girl and lowered her head, hiding her own wet eyes. “It’s okay. I know.” Their Norwegian hosts deftly stepped around the sisters until they self-consciously parted. “Look, let’s admit defeat,” Adriana kept her voice low, “and offer to help out so we don’t look like ungrateful assholes.” 

Trotting obediently back and forth with armloads of greenery, extra chairs, and tablecloths, she kept a pleasant smile pasted on her face. This felt so off- so completely off. For a festival, everyone seemed grimly determined to make everything perfect, she could hear the musicians practicing over and over while two of the women were sorting through a plethora of pretty white dresses, holding one up to the sunlight, only to shake their heads, toss it aside and select another.

The younger girls were sitting together, deftly weaving flower crowns. Alison sat with them, handing over flowers when the others pointed at them. "So, where's the rest of the girls?" she asked. While there were at least 30 young men roaming around, the eight girls she was sitting with seemed to be the only ones between five and twenty years old.

One of the pretty, blonde heads raised, cornflower blue eyes trained on the American. "We are all the girls there are in Glemt."

"What- really?" Alison frowned a little. "Huh, okay..." and she pulled two huge pink grepplyng from the basket as someone gestured at them.

Meanwhile, as his daughters trotted back and forth, fetching and carrying, Martin was still sitting with the Blonde Patriarchy - as Adriana was calling them - and laughing eagerly at their stories. The girls passed by on their endless errands, eyeing their father resentfully, and the other men would lean closer, voices lowering as they continued the conversation. _'What's such a fucking secret?'_ Adriana thought,_ 'What are they telling dad?'_

The sun slanting toward the west, shadows lengthening as she turned in a circle between two of the pretty, weathered wood homes, moss dripping off the roofs. Britt had sent her to get a pile of serving trays from somebody-someone's-something-whatever the fuck she said's garden shed. But all this rustic shit was blending in, one charming cottage to the next, and she was tired. Turning toward a larger garage-style building, Adriana pulled open the door, one hand fumbling for the light switch in the gloom of the interior. When the light came on, it revealed a very tidy, organized workbench and... "The motherfuckers!" she gasped, "They said the car had flipped over- that it was totaled!" There was a substantial dent in the right rear quarter panel, but it was their rental car. And it was quite driveable, the keys sitting neatly on the center console. Adriana slumped against the door for a minute, suddenly dizzy as her heart began thumping like a horse in the Kentucky Derby. So... they were lying to them. This fucking village _was_ weird, she wasn't just paranoid. But if the whole herd of Happy Blonde People were lying to them, keeping them here- it couldn't be good. She couldn't figure out why they would even want three scruffy-ass Americans, but it couldn't possibly be anything but completely fucked up. Which meant she had to get them out of there. Tonight. Now.

Slipping back into Britt’s house, Adriana jammed their passports, money and her useless phone into her backpack, carefully setting the box containing her mother’s ashes on the top. She’d just managed to sling the straps over her shoulders and stumble down the walkway when she ran into Britt and two other women.

“Where have you been?” 

Staring at the woman’s face, Adriana thought wildly, _‘The mask is melting off and the monster’s face is showing.’_ The kindly blonde woman who’d tucked her into bed that first night and bandaged her injuries was staring down at her coldly, mouth in a tight line. "Uh... I was looking for the trays?" 

“It does not matter.” Britt’s head jerked in the direction of the square, and the women with her stepped smoothly behind Adriana, who felt a bolt of terror shoot up her spine, making her face flush. “Come, the celebration is beginning.”

Instead of going directly to the town’s center, where a couple of men were lighting torches that sent a warm glow over the stone and wood, the women herded her in the direction of a smaller building next to the longhouse. “What’s this place?” she asked, beginning to dig in her heels, “Where’s my dad? Alison?”

“Your sister is here,” Britt answered, her familiar tranquil expression smoothing out her angry features again.

And, she was.

“Alison!” Breaking formation with the three women keeping her in check, Adriana darted over to the girl, who was half in and half out of one of the white dresses and crying as two sturdy women tried to pull it up over her shoulders and get it buttoned. “Take your fucking hands off my sister or I will snap them off at the wrist!” Hauling her weeping sibling up and behind her, Adriana snarled at the women, none of whom looked particularly frightened. “What the fuck is going on? I know you’ve been screwing with us!”

There were fifteen or so women in the little hall, and they all wore the same placid smile. “We are not, ah, screwing with you.” This was Andreas’ wife, she remembered, Frida or something? And she was tall and built like a linebacker from the Minnesota Vikings. “Your family is here at Haust Blót as our honored guests. Your sister is a very important part of the festival.”

Feeling Alison’s shaking hands grip her sweater, Adriana’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are you talking about? Do you have a Harvest Queen pageant or something? Because we’re not playing.”

There was a trill of laughter through the little group, and a male voice spoke up from the door. “No, there is no contest.” Andreas, big shot of the village and the asshole who’d been liquoring up their dad for the last 24 hours stepped into the room. 

“Our prayers were answered when your sister was brought into our arms. She is perfect as our gift to the Blå Konge.” He moved closer with a fond smile, and her lips curled back as she heard Alison whimper. “So sweet, this girl, so nicely mannered.” He glared at Adriana. “Unlike you. But she was sent here to spare our girls. A good girl. A virgin who will-”

“A _what?”_ She really couldn’t help herself, Adriana burst out in slightly hysterical laughter. “A virgin? Jesus Christ, sis, did you hear that? They- ahahahaha!” Yeah, she was pretty sure she was losing it, but she only laughed harder as Alison shrugged, putting a hand over her mouth to stifle her own smirk. Kristina had always been adamant that her girls would be prepared and in control of their own sexuality, so she gave them different variations of “The Talk” from five years of age onwards and took them to her OB/GYN at the age of 14. While her oldest daughter wasn’t in any particular hurry until starting college and even then sticking with two long-term boyfriends, her youngest was quite happy to dive into the deep end. 

“No slut-shaming you bitch,” Alison whispered to her, which sent Adriana off into another round of uncontrollable laughter. “Besides,” she said louder, “why do you think they were trying to make me Harvest Festival Queen? None of the other girls here are exactly Snow White. I was talking to them all afternoon!” 

Adriana’s efforts to stop laughing failed miserably as several of the mothers looked at each other uncomfortably, shifting their feet.

“ENOUGH!” thundered Andreas, “She is our Haust Blót and the Blå Konge will be pleased. You will stop your insolence and pray you are not torn to pieces when he comes for her.”

Adriana had been feverishly trying to translate whatever the fuck he’d been yapping about and cursing herself for not paying more attention to her Duolingo online Norweigian class when the words finally shaped themselves into English. “Haust Blót- Autumn Blood?” she gasped, “No- no fucking way you freaks! Alison, come on honey, we’re getting dad and we’re getting the fu-” But by then, the women were surrounding them, taking their arms and making soothing sounds that were even more frightening than if they’d cursed them. 

“You will be fine, dear-”

“Do not worry, it does not hurt for long-”

“The King, you will be honored, you’ll see…”

And they were being pulled out of the little building and dragged lovingly toward the town square, bright and cheerful in the torchlight. The sweet strains of the dulcimer and seljefløyte floated to them as the girls thrashed violently against the strong arms of their guardians and as they grew closer, a half-drunk Martin stood from one of the long tables. “Allie? Adriana? What are- why are you dragging my daughters like this? Take your hands off them!”

“Now venn…” soothed Andreas, coming up to the agitated man and putting an arm around his shoulders, “you do remember how we talked about the old ways? How our village was unique in how we kept certain things sacred? This is an honor, venn, an honor for your daughter, for you….”

They weren’t getting out of here. Looking at the crowd of tall, blonde, disgustingly attractive people surrounding them, Adriana knew it. They weren’t making it back to the airport, getting on their flight by the skin of their teeth and laughing over their close call. 

They were fucked.

Maybe that was why it seemed easier to do something irrational, so, she did. Yanking her backpack off one shoulder and thrashing in Frida’s iron grip, Adriana pulled out her mother’s box of ashes, holding it in front of her like a weapon and shaking it at the puzzled townspeople threateningly. “Back off! Take your hands off my sister! Dad! Come here, come-”

“Now what do you think you are doing, you stupid thing?” Frida was scolding her while trying to grab her backpack, and Adriana cracked the woman over the head with the metal container, making Mrs. Mayor of Psycho Village screech in pain and let go. The blow apparently also loosened the seal on the box, because when she went to bludgeon the women holding Alison, a wide spray of gray dust sailed over the crowd in a graceful arc. The ash hung oddly in the evening air for a moment, almost motionless before it flew into the faces of those closest, making them gasp and gag, arms flailing blindly. 

Martin and his daughter would insist on the following detail for the rest of their lives, but it was simply another component of their story deemed ridiculous, a hallucination brought on by grief. But the ashes seemed to rise again and then sweep over the lit torches, making them spark and then flare up in a huge gout of flame that drove the others back, screaming. Throwing the backpack to Alison, Adriana grabbed her father’s sweater in a death grip and began racing to where their car had been hidden. Hauling up the garage door, she shouted, “The keys are in the backpack, Allie! Get in there and get it started. Hurry! Dad-” Martin was standing by the opened door, arms limp to his sides and staring at the coughing, cursing herd of Norse pagans racing toward them.

“But, I … why are they….”

“DAD!” Adriana screamed directly into his face, enjoying his violent flinch a little bit. “GET IN THE GODDAMN CAR!” 

Three things happened almost simultaneously.

  1. Martin got in the car.
  2. Adriana swung her improvised weapon in another arc, the grey ashed remains of her mother spurting up in another vicious wall of flame between the car and the villagers...
  3. ...and between Adriana and the car. 

For a horrified moment, she saw the car’s brake lights flash and Alison open her door and look like she was getting out of the driver’s seat. Screaming so loud that she could feel her vocal cords bulge, Adriana howled, “GO!” 

Shaking as she tried to wave the box at the blonde lunatics bearing down on her, Adriana still gave a sob of relief as she heard the tires squeal as the rubber hit the first spot of paved road that led from the Forgotten Village of We’re Going To Murder Your Daughter and out to the highway. And safety. And then she was hit on the back of the head and slipped into the dark.

Blå Konge Norwegian for the Blue King

Venn - friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It probably won't surprise you that coming up in the next chapter, there is a ridiculous amount of gratuitous sex and violence. Especially the former. And an extended visit with our blue-tinged king with the double daggers. Well. Three, if you count his most impressive weapon.


	3. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Blue King takes what is his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, true story:  
If you've read some of my other rambling back history, you may remember that my family line is pretty rigid- Dad's family is all from Ireland, my Mom's is from Scotland.  
I've always had a weird affinity for Norway, I loved all the Norse Myths and Legends, I dated Norwegian boys and studied abroad in Oslo and Bergen for a year. I speak Norwegian (badly) I just love everything about the country. The hubs and I just recently had the opportunity to do this monstrously technical, invasive genetic study at our local University and when my results came back, I was indeed of Scottish and Irish descent... and 35% Norwegian. Hey, mom and dad! Who screwed up the genealogy! But it makes me so happy that this strange connection I've always had to the country was something deeper than just liking hot blonde guys and akvavit. And Loki.

(image credit: Dyna Wang)

When they came for her, Adriana was ready.

Slashing out with a razor-sharp shard of china in one hand and a Delft pitcher painted with pretty blue pastoral scenes in the other, she managed to down the first three men who tried to seize her. In fact, some still-sane corner of her brain cheered that it was Mayor of the Norse Nutjobs - Andreas - that she cracked over the head with the pitcher. But it wasn’t long before she was overpowered and her short legs were kicking furiously as they half dragged, half carried her to the square. There was a new addition she’d not seen before, and Adriana’s stomach dropped to the soles of her feet as she realized what it was. An altar.

”Seriously?” she snarled, still writhing like a demented eel, “You are totally some fucked-up low-budget horror film! An altar? Look, just stab me in the neck and let’s get this shit over with! Are you going to pass my blood around like fruit punch? Does everyone get a sip of the Koolaid? You are so-“ It was as if her tongue had been suddenly stitched to the roof of her mouth and she moaned, the sound trapped in her throat. Her body seized as if electrocuted, and her monstrous guard took the opportunity to get her on to the altar and tie her hands to each corner, and her ankles likewise. Desperately breathing in and out through her nose, Adriana’s eyes darted back and forth. All she could see was the glow from the torches, the flowers and vines twirled over her and the night sky- a thousand, trillion stars in shapes unfamiliar from the ones she knew. A bolt of loneliness shot through her heart like a physical wound. She was alone here. She was going to die alone and she could only hope her family had enough lead time to get the hell out of there. Drawing in a deep breath, she forced the pain from her heart._ ‘Fuck them,’_ she thought bitterly,_ ‘I’m not going to beg.’_

Adriana had heard people tut-tutting behind her back after Kristina passed away. “So angry,” they’d whisper, “all the time, so angry. She never cries.” And she _was_ angry. Angry as fuck at the vagaries of the universe that gave and took so cruelly. Fury was cleansing in a way that tears and grief were not. 

_ ‘So fuck you all!’ _ she thought, _‘I’ll come back as a ghost and make your lives a living, fucking hell!’ _Perversely, the thought made her grin maniacally, which was the expression the old woman found as she rose over the bound girl, a clay pot in hand.

"You laugh? This is a strange one," the wizened creature glanced over at Frida and Britt, who both nodded nervously.

"Yes, æret Prestinne," Frida gulped.

"But he will be pleased by her spirit," the priestess mused, "by her anger."

_‘Well, hey,’ _Adriana thought sardonically, _‘you look great. You can’t be a day over ... like ... 127.’_ The crone’s face was squashed into a thousand wrinkles and bore a striking resemblance to a withered apple. But her formal gown looked expensive and hand-made, with miles of elaborate embroidery. It hung on her skinny little body like a sack, and all the gold jewelry seemed to weigh as much as she did, but she was still grand. 

She briskly patted Adriana’s cheek, chuckling a rusty sort of noise when the girl bared her teeth and tried to snap at her, her speech having been taken. “Yes. The Blå Konge will take this sacrifice.” Pulling a brush from the clay pot, she began to brush delicately painted runes over Adriana’s face, moving down her neck and shoulders. “Our ancestors painted with woad when we went into battle to celebrate our fierceness,” murmured æret Prestinne, “to terrify our enemies and drive them before us like cattle.” Adriana’s eyes narrowed, trying to convey her hate, but the old woman merely made the rusty-sounding chuckle again as she began the process of the tiny characters of the runes down the girl’s arms. 

“You are neither cattle nor Viking. But you are … different. A blazing brand, and….”

Closing her eyes for a dazed moment, Adriana forced them open again. The torchlight was getting blurry, and the chants of those fucking asshole Children of the Corn wannabes was fading a little, thank god. Her skin itched and burned where the psycho crone was painting on her, and she was beginning to see colors swirl in the sky. She hummed a little. The colors … they were falling from the sky into her skin. Yeah, they were making music. Stiffening for a second, Adriana realized the buzz was similar to the one disastrous time she’d dropped acid in college with her lab partner - Kyle, right? “You’ll love it!” he’d said, “It makes you feel so beautiful.” Kyle just didn’t realize that she already knew she was beautiful - kind of - and when he’d attempted to cuddle her like a stoned koala, she’d lovingly punched him in the mouth. Though in her defense, at the time she _did_ think Kyle was a koala and that he was trying to steal all her eucalyptus leaves, and … fuck, what was going on here again? When Frida and Britt pulled her irritating white gown off her breasts and then away from her fully, Adriana was in no shape to argue. It seemed like days passed by while the æret Prestinne continued her work, still murmuring to her as she created one rune, and then another. By the time she’d reached the girl’s toes, Adriana’s wrists were twisting helplessly in their bonds as she hummed mindlessly, staring at the swirls of light in the night sky. 

She was vaguely aware that the irritating chant from the pagan fucks was growing louder as the crone finally stood up, cracking her back with a sigh of relief and making the pot of blue woad disappear with a flick of her wrist. _ ‘That’s pretty cool…’ _Adriana managed before realizing the chanting had stopped and there was a sound - a totally fucked-up sound like all the air in the village displacing and going somewhere else because something massive was taking its place, taking over the whole world and taking all the air with it because all of a sudden she couldn’t breathe, and-

“Ahhh…”

A single exhalation said with such satisfaction. In a voice like a panther’s, or what a panther would sound like given human speech, and then he was there, standing over her as she looked up, and up, then up some more. At least seven feet tall, a beautiful cobalt hue with movement mapped on his skin in raised lines spreading from high, cruel cheekbones, down his neck and over shoulders too broad to be real. The lines flowed over an exquisitely muscled chest and powerful arms and then- a leather loincloth covered the rest of what she could see and with a sudden, atavistic terror Adriana was grateful she couldn’t see any more. Long, hard fingers took her jaw and turned her to look at him again. Black hair flowed over his shoulders and framed- what the fuck was that? Were those ... fuck! Those were horns! Sleek, shiny ebony horns that rose from his head, curving magnificently and arrayed with delicate silver chains wound with diamonds and emeralds

“Do not turn your eyes from me, girl. I am your master. Your king.” There was an underlying snarl in that panther voice now, and as she stared up into his icy gaze, she remembered. The dream. The battlefield. This blue bastard ripping her throat out with his teeth. And as his face descended toward hers, Adriana tried to yank her jaw from his grasp. “It’s too late to fight, little one,” the beautiful creature purred, “you are chosen.” 

She shuddered with the cold when his frigid skin touched hers, the god of this place, their king putting his long body over hers. Her hands clenched into fists when one of his - tipped with midnight blue talons - ran lazily up the skin of her thigh. With a wicked grin that showed the alarmingly sharp teeth she’d dreamt of embedded in her throat, he leaned over her breast and it was then she realized his eyes were a blazing crimson and fixed on hers. His long tongue came out to lick along her nipple and the runes painted there, leaning back slightly to blow on the tiny characters that seemed to squiggle and come to life, making her back snap into an arch as a blaze of heat spread over her chest, nipples peaked and aching, a little needy groan trying to escape from her throat. It contrasted wildly with the polar chill of his body over hers, and to her horror, Adriana could feel her thighs move restlessly, widening to allow his slim hips to situate between them. His arctic tongue was sliding up her neck, just under her ear to blow again, this time Adriana actually gasped out loud, her tongue freed from whatever that psycho crone had done to it. The rune danced like music over the thin skin of her throat, hovering playfully as she swallowed hard.

“Do not fear, herlig,” he hissed in her ear, “I will not tear your throat from your body.” He chuckled again and she could feel it move his thickly muscled abdomen against the painfully sensitive skin of her breasts. “As long as you worship your king.”

His hips were lazily rotating as he pushed what was an alarmingly large cock against her suddenly wet center, and Adriana winced to feel her hips push up against his. “You’re not-” she croaked, her voice feeling new and never used before, “-you’re not_ my _ king, asshole.”

There was a little frisson of horrified gasps that fluttered through the crowd of villagers, but he threw back his magnificent head and laughed, the clear sound ringing through the square, almost too bright to bear. He sobered then and shoved his hardened shaft against her bare center again, eyes narrowing as she made a wanton little groan. Pulling her leg up to rest her thigh along his ribcage, he bent in to put his mouth over her calf, sucking, then biting down lightly on the skin.

This time, Adriana howled. Like a wolf, like a lunatic, like the neediest bitch on two continents because her pussy was suddenly on fire. The runes painted just above her pelvis flared to life, sending streaks like lightning bolts through her clit, swelling her lips and making the entrance to her channel actually ache. Dimly, she could feel his hands slide under her- hands so large that they completely cupped her overly generous ass. Groaning as he squeezed the globes of flesh he was cradling, Adriana could feel everything. The heat of the torches, the low chanting of the Norse pagans - who she really wished would shut up, by the way - the chill of this strange god’s hands and the terrifying strength in his arms, currently holding her legs wide open. But when his mouth descended, carmine gaze still fixed avidly on her face, everything went white. The frigid bite of his tongue on her softest parts was almost unbearable, his sharp teeth nibbled too harshly and his lips fixed on her clit and pulled it more than she could stand.

“Oh- ow! Please, you’re too…” whatever Adriana was going to say was forgotten as his wicked tongue pointed and drove deep inside her, ripping another howl from her throat. His silky hair cascaded over her thighs, which were clenching desperately and trying to push him away? Bring him closer? All she knew was that the chill and the pain were entwined now with the pleasure, the sheer, needy relief that this god’s mouth was bringing her. Any tentative effort an ex-boyfriend had ever made in that latitude was forgotten, ridiculous, pitful because her arms and legs were trembling with the desperate need to grab thick chunks of his hair and rub her heels against that exquisitely muscled back. But she was bound still, only able to move her hips in some rhythm, desperate to match his. 

And as his greedy mouth and tongue drove her into coming, every muscle locked tight, and one black-tipped talon lightly circled her anus before delicately sliding in. 

This time, she simply shrieked, terrified and remembering the length and razor sharpness of those fucking claws of his. But its inexorable slide up her anxious pucker made her come again, even harder, so hard that it hurt. “Oh, god…” Adriana wheezed, “you gotta … you gotta stop…” She couldn’t remember what she was going to say and it didn’t matter anyway because now this gigantic blue son of a bitch was running that wicked tongue over her clitoris, her mound, stopping to circle her belly button before resuming its tour between her breasts and finished with a long, luxurious swipe over her throat. And everywhere his tongue traveled the blue woad flared white, making her feel like she was being licked everywhere and it was almost unbearable. Opening her eyes to stare up at his stupid, smug face, she managed to gasp, “Seriously, who the fuck are you?” 

He responded by shifting his hips and kneeling back on his heels, long, cerulean thighs spread shamelessly wide and he removed his loincloth. His cock was terrifying. And beautiful. Thick, as dark as his skin with more of those paler lines and dots raised on the surface, beading come from the head that was dark as midnight. “I am The Liar. The Trickster. The Silvertongue. I guide the willful and greedy. I bless the thieves and lunatics. I am ruler of Jotunheim and guardian of the True North. And I am your king. Your master. And now, you become mine.” He’d been circling the thick head at her entrance, and with the last word, he thrust viciously inside her, making Adriana throw back her head and scream to the uncaring stars.

Her insides felt speared, like he’d used one of the daggers he’d wielded in her dream. His cock drove further up inside her as he watched it’s progress, her thighs on his and her body open and spread lewdly for him. The Blå Konge (_ ‘blue King’ _some absent part of her translated) grinned as his shaft pulled from her, shiny and slick already and she was pushed higher on the altar as he slammed back in. He was uncaring of her pain, her arousal and Adriana could do nothing other than simply be pinned under him, feeling the jolt of her body every time he withdrew and then thrust back inside. 

One hand continued to lift her ass while the other drew those knife-edged fingernails up her heaving stomach to squeeze one breast and then the other. “The heat of you,” he groaned, “I feel the skin is burning off my cock. You are fire within, little one.” The sinuous thrust and pull of his hips was oddly beautiful to watch, even while she was panting, trying to breathe in at least one lungful of air before he lunged back into her. “How well you take your master,” the god purred, “this snug little quim clutching me so tightly … I am pleased.”

Then his hips lifted slightly and that huge cock rubbed luxuriously against the front of her channel, sparking off nerve endings and then burrowing the frozen tip by her cervix, setting the girl on fire again as she shrieked for him. It could have been moments later, or maybe next week, but the malicious god’s thrusts began to slow, driving deep as he flexed up inside her. With a drawn-out growl that sounded suspiciously like a wolf’s, he came. He flooded her inside, his chilly essence clashing with her heated channel, making them groan together. The king carelessly fell against her, nearly crushing Adriana to the stone altar, gleefully smearing her perspiration, their combined essence between them. A bleary glance showed her that the blue woad used to paint the runes was smeared everywhere. Adriana chuckled weakly. 

His dark head lifted, more black hair, some braided with beads and precious stones brushed her cheek. “You laugh, herlig?” He rewarded her with a sharp bite on her chin.

“I’m as blue as you are,” Adriana’s breasts jolted most distractingly as he looked down at her, still giggling uncontrollably, an edge of hysteria undercutting any possible humor.

A spark of amusement lit his blazing eyes, and he pulled from her, ignoring her groan. Standing up, he leisurely tucked himself back in his leather covering and looked her over for a moment. “Your king accepts your sacrifice.” 

There was a roar of delight from the villagers as he pulled off his cloak, a rich, thick material with a fur collar, and casually draped it over her blue skin, a tinge of frostbite adding to the hue. Then turning, he walked into the dark and was gone.

______________________

When Adriana regained consciousness, she was being carried on a charmingly rustic stretcher, the Blue King’s cloak still covering her but doing nothing to reduce the shuddering she couldn’t seem to stop. She was frozen, it felt like all her internal organs were meat-locker solid like some kind of macabre ice sculpture. Even her heart seemed to start and stutter as if trying to keep beating. Looking painfully to her side, she squeezed her eyes shut, then open again. The bloated moon shone over the endless expanse of ice.

“The … glacier?” she mumbled, frustrated that her lips and tongue didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

“Indeed.” It was that asshole Andreas again, walking alongside her stretcher. “You have been honored beyond all measure.”

“Fuck yooou,” she slurred back.

Despite the fact that her wrists were bloody from pulling at her bonds, her insides felt hollowed out and she could no longer feel anything but the endless chill, Adriana was struck with the wild beauty of the place. There were deep, jagged piles of thick ice of the purest, most vivid sapphire, but the men carrying her were surprisingly sure-footed. The long progression turned and headed for an especially odd formation in the glacier. Squinting, she could make out an opening. A … cave? A cave in a glacier? 

As they drew closer, she gasped. It was a cavern, the moon glinting off the ice formations and lighting it as bright as day, which is how Adriana spotted the tomb. It was a raised dais, exquisitely carved from it's frozen surroundings and over it a clear case. A long one. Meant to house a body. “Oh, no…” she said in a small voice, like a child’s. She knew what they were going to do to her, how she was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I hope I'm not giving anything away by telling you that all of my stories have happy endings. If I want bleak and despairing, I can get plenty of that shit in Real Life. So, the final chapter Haust Blót - The Harvest Sacrifice will be up tomorrow for your viewing pleasure.


	4. The Light of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the angriest woman in Scandinavia discovers revenge is really is a dish best served cold.

From my beautiful [Ursus_minor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursus_minor/pseuds/Ursus_minor)'s clever pen...

As the singing, dancing blonde lunatics brought her stretcher into the cavern, Adriana desperately tried to stir herself to move. To fucking do something to at least … at least not make it easier for these assholes to bury her alive. But the blood from straining against her bonds had smeared on her skin to a dull rust, the stickiness between her thighs, the ache in her legs made her doubt she could have run, even if she could make a break for it. So she lay shivering, gritting her teeth. ‘I swear,’ she thought bitterly, ‘I swear I will come back and fuck your shit up, your whole douchebag village of the damned!’

When they gently lifted her on to the ice platform, she bit back a groan when her bare skin met the ice. That fucking Britt was carefully arranging the Blue King’s cloak around her and smiled down at her hate-filled expression tenderly. She leaned down to whisper - as if to a daughter - “You are blessed.” When the Norwegian reared back with a yelp, scrubbing at her face, Adriana grinned. Spitting right in the woman’s eye was at least something she could still achieve with some accuracy. Even with all her fury, her body’s uncontrollable shaking let some of the terror creep back in. This was it? King whatever the fuck he was just fucks her half to death and then… well, she guessed this was the other half to death part. Looking up, she could see the blurry shapes of the stars through the milky ice, and then that crone - the priestess bitch? She leaned over Adriana with a toothless grin, doing some sort of wavy thing with her hands and chanting a prayer. 

“Farewell, lille gudinnen. You are very brave. You will need to be to survive him.” And with that odd farewell, the priestess signaled for the ice cover to be placed over Adriana. The procession of jubilant villagers left, and the cavern went dark.

Gritting her teeth, Adriana held back her terror as long as she could, shuddering in the unimaginable polar environment of the chamber. After a moment, she heard a groan, like a dog, perhaps in terrible pain. A series of whimpers, then another long, drawn-out moan. She finally realized it was coming from her. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes and blurred the stars and the cavern's roof. She waited for the numbness to set in, make it not so unbearable. But it seemed her body couldn't quite allow itself to simply fucking freeze to death. A vivid image of Kristina came to mind, knitted cap on that little bald head, smiling from her hospital bed. _'Did mom make the flame roar up from her ashes?' _She chuckled despite herself._ 'Mom would totally do that,'_ she thought with satisfaction. Adriana had never given much thought to an afterlife even after Kristina passed away. She couldn't let herself think of it - heaven or hell - none of it made any fucking sense. Then the thought began to fester, that she would just... be here. Awake. Aware. For eternity, suffering the agony she was enduring now.

_ "... Cause you're a sky, 'cause you're a sky full of stars _

_ I'm gonna give you my heart _

_ 'Cause you're a sky, 'cause you're a sky full of stars _

_ 'Cause you light up the path _

_ I don't care, go on and tear me apart _

_ I don't care if you do ooh ooh _

_ 'Cause in a sky, 'cause in a sky full of stars _

_ I think I saw you…” _

Staring through her transparent coffin, she blankly searched the sky singing little snatches of a song she kind of remembered about stars. Her voice would give out partway through, but her lips kept moving until it seemed to come back again. Adriana didn't recognize the croaky little voice, if questioned, she might have thought that crone was singing, maybe...

It was so painful. Her ribs felt broken from the violent, almost seizure-like shuddering. Her feet and hands prickled like fire without diminishing. She would have thought she'd be screaming, it was so unbearable. But her throat only offered up more of the mournful howls. Surely... Surely, it was daytime by now? It had been at least 3 or 4 days, or maybe a hundred or something.

_ ...'cause in a sky full of stars _

_ I think I saw you…” _

"What a lovely serenade, little one. A voice like a siren's call."

Adriana's brows furrowed. She knew that voice. The voice like a panther's. Of all stupid autonomic functions, her pelvis heated. It burned and felt swollen, and for a brief, grateful moment, she was just happy some portion of her was warm. "You..." she tried to hiss the word, but it came out more like a caw, like a crow.

A shadow came over her first, then the hugely tall figure of the king, blocking out the dim light from the stars so that only his crimson eyes shone, dancing like a particularly malevolent fire. “I find myself … intrigued by you, my angry little crow.” He waved an idle hand, and the ropes fell away from her ankles and wrists. He chuckled unkindly at her guttural, pitiful groan of relief. “They left you bound. Strange. It is not as if you would ever leave this tomb.” Another wave of his hand and the clear ice cover pinning her to the dais rose and disappeared.

“They…” Adriana painfully cleared her throat. “They didn’t like me.”

He threw back that magnificent head, silky, ebony braids sliding down his bare, blue back as he laughed. “This is true. You were quite angry.”

“I’m still fucking angry,” she croaked. “Fuck yo-”

His hand raised again, taloned tips glimmering ominously as he snapped his thumb and forefinger together and the action cut off her flow of fury instantly, like turning off a TV. “Yes, yes darling. Fuck. Me.”

Adriana shivered again. Why did it sound so … filthy when that blue bastard said it in his crisp, perfect diction?

“Fuck. Me.” he said again, straddling her, long cobalt thighs on either side of her hips, pelvis jutted forth obscenely. “I have been thinking of that, little one. Fucking you. Back between these luscious thighs and just…” Adriana made that humiliating cawing noise again because he was rubbing his swelling crotch against the velvety material of his cloak, the thin protection over her body. "You are the most delicious sacrifice offered to me from this realm. And so very strong. Any other mortal lying in this tomb would have perished instantly, yet, here you are.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they followed the path of his hand, talons scraping so very lightly down her neck and chest, drawing his cloak away with them. “Blue smeared skin, heaving breasts…” he squeezed one harshly and she hissed at him. 

“It’s spite,” Adriana managed to sneer, rather credibly since her shuddering had only increased when she felt the polar bite of his skin on her.

Again, the Blue King roared with laughter, looking genuinely pleased with her. “Spite … spirit…” he shrugged, “both things familiar to me.” His hands slid under her back, over her shoulder blades and lifted her, making a low, soothing rumble as a groan of agony escaped her gritted teeth. “Poor darling. I have used you harshly.” He crossed his legs and settled her in the cradle they made, draping her legs around his hips. Pressing the heel of his hand against her pelvis, the god of these lands watched her closely, enjoying the rather surprised moan of pleasure that followed. “Inside here,” he crooned, “is heat, and wet. Like velvet. Like fire against me. Your perfect quim lights my core.” Two long fingers slid between her lips. “Lick them. Get them wet.”

To her utter shock, Adriana did as she was ordered, rolling her tongue along them and delicately examining the razor-sharp tips before releasing them with an obscene pop. He put them between her legs, rubbing them along her swelling pussy with a grunt of approval. “Ohhh…” She flushed when she released the sigh came from her and tried to turn her face away, only to have it jerked back to face him. Chilly lips fastened over hers, a tongue so dark as to be purple pushing into her mouth, exploring her above as his fingers did below. Adriana raised her arms, putting them around his broad shoulders. “Back for more, huh? Maybe I’m not in the mood, your Kingship. I’ve had a hell of a day.”

And he laughed again, even his laughter sounding surprised as if he wasn’t used to making such a sound. “You delectable little enchantress. Are you sure you’re a mortal?” But he kissed her again before she could think of a suitable retort.

Her breasts were rubbing against the hard musculature of his chest, nipples painfully erect, and Adriana was stunned to feel herself getting wet, her hips softening and thighs opening wider. She’d been … well, dying, she was pretty sure. And now she was perched on this insanely gorgeous blue bastard and as he pulled away the leather covering his cock, she made a pleased noise, reaching a hand down to touch it. Closing her eyes as the lines and dots stippling his shaft tickled the sensitive flesh of her palm, she asked, “What do they mean, the lines?”

“They map who I am,” he answered, “my heritage, hidden from me for millennia.”

Her hand kept stroking it, enjoying the feel of the velvety tip. “And who are you? Not all the titles again. I don’t give a shit. What’s your name?”

He looked down at her, his fiery eyes banked to coals. “I am Loki Laufeyson.”

“Loki…” she was still squeezing and fondling his cock. “I’m-”

Huffing impatiently, Loki said, “Do you want me to fuck you, Adriana?” He said her name differently, drawing out the middle and making the word sound exotic, unusual.

“How do you-” she shook her head. “You’re a god, or you took a look at my driver’s license.” He was moving his hips in a slow circle eight against her embarrassingly wet pelvis and it was making it difficult to concentrate. The utterly bizarre concept of straddling this massive cerulean god didn’t stop her, because suddenly, all she could remember was how good he felt, crammed inside her, how his sinuous hips would snap against hers and how he greedily squeezed and licked her flesh. 

When Loki pulled her hand away from his shaft, she looked up with a frown. “Do you want me to fuck you, lille gudinnen?”

“Your creepy old lady priestess called me that,” Adriana observed absently, shivering as the tip of one talon scratched up the long line of her spine. She enjoyed the moment, grateful that this was a shiver that brought more pleasure, feeling her skin flush. “What does it mean?”

He growled then, this beautiful, gigantic god and his hands moved down to squeeze her ass again, lifting her as easily as he would a child - and she knew her weight was anything but childlike. “You will answer your king.”

The midnight blue tip of his cock, that velvety, silky head of him was circling her channel teasingly, dipping in slightly to feel her stretch against him, then pulling back out. Adriana swallowed, trying to focus. “Uh … what did you ask me?”

Loki yanked her against him hard. “Beg me to fuck you, herlig.” He pulled her body against his harder one roughly and enjoyed her whimper as she felt every one of his lines blaze white, feeling like fire on her skin.

She was mindlessly, shamelessly rubbing her breasts against his chest, feeling the marking across his body sear against her colder skin, making it sizzle and smoke. “L- Loki, please … uh … oh, shit! Oh, that’s so-”

He was holding her cruelly aloft, it would take just a fraction of movement to plunge her down over his cock, to bury himself so deeply that she would feel where he’d been for days, years perhaps. “Beg. Me.” The stubborn girl was gripping a luxurious fistful of his glossy hair in one hand and stroking along his glowing markings with the other, and he shook her sharply. 

Adriana yelped, her head feeling like it was separating from her body. “Yes. Do…” she growled, hating giving this spectacular, smug son of a bitch what he wanted. But her past suffering was forgotten. All she could focus on was that thick, heavy piece of meat scant inches from her cunt. And she needed it. “I … please fuck me, Loki, oh king. Fuck your- OH!!” He’d very nearly dropped her and she could feel the stretch and burn of him tearing through her channel again. It didn’t hurt as much as the first time, but she had a feeling it would always burn when he first took her, and it mixed all together as he chuckled darkly and began bouncing her up and down, rapidly stroking in and out of her.

“There it is…” Loki purred, that self-satisfied panther sound coming back. “This sweet, tender quim. Wrapping me up in your heated silk.” She had her face buried in his neck, her warm breath feeling like fire against him, and her nails digging into his biceps, trying to hold on with an impressive level of savagery. The raised markings on his shaft driving in and out of her perfect cunt and reverberating all over his skin, making Loki feel as if all of him was buried inside her, this irritating, abrasive little thing. Pushing hard on the small of her back, he rearranged her and felt her corresponding yelp from the change in position, making her clit run hard against the base of his cock while his tip buried inside stroked along all her hidden places, pulling open all the mysteries inside his lille gudinnen. When the tip of one long finger began circling around the pucker of her anus, his tasty mortal yelped, tightening down on him and stopping his movement mid-thrust. 

"No! No anal, none of that! One slight move with that talon of yours and I'm gutted like a trout! No!" But her god noticed she was still beginning to circle her hips around his buried cock and it was weakening her argument about the sanctity of her back passage.

Reluctantly withdrawing his finger, Loki kissed her, biting her lower lip and pulling it out a bit farther than was comfortable. “Demands of your king? I had imagined your survival instinct would be stronger.”

“Y- you’re the one who wanted this golden p-pussy,” she managed, still being bounced vigorously up and down on his gleaming, slick shaft. She still grinned internally when he laughed again. The sound was light, it spread through her and rang through the cavern, so bright that the ice shifted a little.

His hands tightened on her ass, making her hips scoop in and up on each thrust, and this change in movement opened up another flare of fire up inside her. “Your sweet slick is oiling my cock” he growled, “it is moving me faster inside this silky fist of a quim.” His hips snapped faster and he took her hands in his, her slim fingers disappearing inside his grip as he stretched her arms out wide, leaving her almost dangling as he fucked up into her faster. He nuzzled into her neck, licking along the pulsing cord there with a surprising delicacy, and she gasped as he began murmuring something in that beautiful, resonant voice. His voice dropped and the depth of it made her bones rattle and her legs tightened around his narrow waist. “Do you feel it, lille gudinnen?”

“Wh- what?” she was breathless and nearly insensible, rubbing herself against him and feeling that tight spiral that she’d felt when he fucked her in the village, something that ran from her center and moved outwards, up her spine, down her legs and through her fingers and toes and when it started spiraling back in, she knew she would blow apart when it reached her cunt again. Her entire focus narrowed down to that moment, moaning shamelessly as she waited for it, wanting it, craving the moment when-

“Goddamnit!”

He laughed down into her angry little face, those vivid eyes of hers, bright as peridot blazing at him. “You must answer me before I give you what you want, little one. Such a greedy, clutching purse.”

Adriana groaned impatiently, “What do you want?” she whined, still trying to circle and grind herself against him.

“Your consent,” Loki answered.

That stopped her. “What, seriously? I’ve been tied up for the last day. I think. Your psycho Norse pagans didn’t wait for an ‘okay, go’ and as I recall King of all the irritating shit, neither did you.”

“Ah…” the panther tone was back as his long, luxurious body slid along hers. “But then, you were merely meat. A sacrifice to the night for the sun to rise again.” He unfairly nestled deeper inside her, enjoying the corresponding whimper. “But when I finish you this time, we will have made bond with each other.”

Adriana’s head was lolling back, wet mouth open and panting. “Huh?”

“An eloquent response, little one. If I come inside you, we will be one. I will belong to you, as you already do to me.”

That got her attention, and her eyes opened comically wide. “What?”

“Your time here is finished herlig,” Loi’s voice was not unkind. “But you must choose your path.”

It was the first time she’d been given a choice in a long time, not since her mother was diagnosed with cancer had anything been chosen by her. She’d simply swam the current and tried to keep her family afloat. His cock was still throbbing inside her, the heat insistent, but Adriana tried to think clearly. “If I choose you?”

Another slow rotation of his hips, her peaked nipples thrumming with the reverberation of his purr. “You are mine. My queen. My mate. Mother to no doubt many, many children. Worshipped as a goddess.”

“And if I don’t choose you?”

His movements slowed and for a moment, Loki’s fierce features were slightly softer. He looked … puzzled? “I do not know,” he finally said. “I cannot see this.”

Her hands absently smoothed along the dark lines of his beautiful body, fingers sliding through the thick silk of his hair. Where would she go? To wherever her mom was? Somewhere with wings and harps and shit? Looking up into his crimson eyes, she saw the wicked glint. Oh, he would be such an asshole. She knew it. Fastening her teeth into his neck, she bit down sharply, barely leaving a mark in his perfect skin, but he still groaned, a guttural sound that made her clamp down around his cock.

“Sure.”

One elegant brow rose. “This is your response to the greatest gift any mortal could imagine? An honor none would dare dream of?”

“It sounded classier than ‘what the hell,’” she answered. Arms tightening around his neck, Adriana licked the spot where she’d bitten, blowing lightly on it. To their mutual shock, he growled low, feeling the runes sing under his skin, his cock hardening even more, swelling wider to the point she was certain she’d split. And then she was on her back again and he was thrusting violently and it was wet and messy and their skin felt like it was blistering off their bodies. When they came, they howled and moaned together. A searingly blue-white light flashed and exploded the ice cavern and could be seen from miles away as an eerie glow. The villagers of Glemt moved restlessly, fearfully, like a herd of cattle who felt a predator enter their frightened little huddle.

__________________________

Wait. Now she was dying? Adriana lay beneath Loki’s heaving, glistening body. The wild pain/pleasure of her orgasm was gone and now she could feel the numbness seep through her, slowing her heart and making her arms and legs feel leaden. Her mouth moved soundlessly as she looked up at her god, eyes closed still in satisfaction. 

With a final shudder of pleasure, Loki’s senses seemed to return and he lifted his hand.

“Open.”

Adriana obediently did, thoughts too wispy and fleeting to settle. He slipped a sliver of fruit into her mouth.

“Chew.”

Her eyes closed involuntarily and she gave a long, almost wanton moan. The bright taste exploded in her mouth and she salivated frantically. When he held up another slice, her mouth was already open like a baby bird’s, waiting. Loki chuckled and fed her again, one slice and then another until the fruit was gone and her eyes closed at last.

100 years later…

"I do not wish to do this." Andreas was trembling, removing his clothing along with the other village elders as the younger people chanted.

"You do not have a choice," another old man answered impatiently. The moon shone on his bare skin, nicked and scarred by thousands of tiny cuts, which looked especially painful on his bare and defenseless penis. "You can't imagine how terrible it could be. How it was before. In your great-grandfather Andreas's time, the sacrifice was of blood. The life of one of our daughters."

The naked and shivering elders stood glumly at the entrance to a massive cornfield. The sharp green leaves whispered in the wind, the sound mocking the fearful Norwegians. The tiny crone stood before them, raising her skinny little arms. "We honor the great goddess- the bringer of the harvest, she who returns the light after the Long Night. Wife to the Trickster. Queen to the Blå Konge. The Goddess Adriana." The priestess slammed down a staff. "Now, RUN!"

Behind them, the unnatural baying of a hundred white wolves rose, driving them all before the howls as the elders screamed in fear, racing into the cornfield. Over the sound of the heavy paws of the supernatural beasts chasing them through the sharp, vicious blades of the corn stalks were the shrieks and yelps of the runners as they endured a thousand tiny slices before they finally stumbled out, covered in blood. And from above rose a peal of haunting laughter that could only be characterized as spiteful.

lille gudinnen - little goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this tale of pagan debauchery, Loki knows I enjoyed writing it. Thank you all for so many happy hours of reading our group's commentary and laughing myself sick. Happy Halloween!


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